


Old Habits

by NoisyFrog



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Healing, M/M, Mind Control, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyFrog/pseuds/NoisyFrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is back... sort of. Recovery isn't easy. Especially when you're surrounded by people almost as messed up as you are. But the hardest part might be juggling old relationships, new relationships, and the ones that are somewhere in between. When it comes to Soviet spies and thawed-out war heroes, nothing is ever simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place somewhere in between Captain America: Winter Soldier and Captain America: Civil War. It's ignoring Age of Ultron for now. Tagged for comics and cinematic universe because it includes material from both.

The Winter Soldier skidded backwards across the rooftop. Sparks flew up from where his metal arm scraped the concrete. He came to a halt by slamming into a two foot high brick wall that was all that separated him from plummeting down the side of the brownstone into New York City traffic. The wall shuddered at his impact, but did not break. He considered whether that was a good thing.

If he’d fallen, would Steve have caught him?

He gazed up through a veil of stringy black hair, watching Steve coming toward him. There was concern in his eyes, not the fear the Soldier was used to seeing. He'd taken a beating from the Soldier before without hesitation. Steve was concerned about him. 

But that didn't seem right. Steve was the one that needed to be looked after.

But, no, he wasn’t. Steve was Captain America, the Soldier reminded himself, thinking back to the mission briefing of so many months ago (He couldn't remember how many months, he wasn't sure what year it was.) Steve was a super soldier just like himself. He didn't need anyone's help, he needed to be eliminated. 

Did he? The Soldier wasn't sure about that anymore. He wasn’t sure about anything. Hydra, Shield, the KGB, his handlers, whoever it was that told him what to do these days, had been out of reach since the Triskelion incident-- and they always found a way to reach him, so that was a first.

At least he thought it was. They might have erased the last time. Firsts were tricky like that.

In lieu of new orders, his mission remained. He was trying to carry it out, and failing. He'd encountered Steve- Captain America- a handful of times in the past few months. Every time he’d gotten close, however, the Soldier had run. Most times Steve hadn’t even seen him. The Soldier had watched him for a while, then walked away, never even coming close to pulling the trigger.

He always panicked eventually. Sitting in a dark alley in some city or another, he'd curl up with his knees to his chest and wait to be punished for his failure. He was a weapon; he had no purpose but to kill. A weapon would be punished or disposed of if it ceased to function.

Steve made him doubt his orders. It might be some kind of mind trick. It made the Soldier angry and scared and confused. It made him want to kill Steve just to quiet his mind. 

That's why they were here, fighting (sort of) on the rooftop of a brownstone in the Bronx. Because the Soldier had wanted to see Steve, not kill him. 

Steve approached the Soldier cautiously. His blue eyes were wide with entreaty, and he held one hand before him, reaching out. He looked like a man approaching a feral animal, the Soldier thought. It occurred to him in a rare moment of self awareness, crouching slumped against the brick, breathing hard and trembling, that that was exactly what he was. 

"Bucky," Steve said softly, using the name that made the hair on the Soldier's arms stand up. "Bucky," he repeated. "Remember me? We grew up here, in this neighborhood, together. We played baseball in that field right over there." His voice was calm and steady, his movements slow and unthreatening.

Baseball? Brooklyn? The Soldier didn't remember any of the facts. He'd been trained so long to repeat false names and birthplaces that they all got jumbled in his mind sometimes. But he remembered feelings. He remembered worrying about someone. He remembered getting his first black eye, and feeling proud.

“Bucky, you always used to look out for me, remember? I used to be scrawny, you know? I had asthma, could barely keep up with the other kids. We used to say, I picked the fights, and you fought ‘em. Do you remember that?”

The Soldier could remember fighting. He could remember little else. His memories were a haze of gunfire and the smell of acrid fear.

“You had little sisters. Remember Maggie and baby Sis, always tagging along with us? Your mom used to bake cookies and we’d all gather round the radio and dance.”

Mother, sister, best friend. The Soldier knew there had been people like that. There must have been something good once, because he knew the feeling of missing it. But whether it had really been Steve back then or this was all a trap, he couldn’t figure.

“Buck, we were in the war together. You joined first, and I followed you. We were in the Howling Commandos. You were a POW. You got messed with a while but I found you that time, and then it all went to Hell on that train. Buck, I know you’re in there. You gotta remember,” Steve choked, his voice pleading. The Soldier read the desperation in his eyes, but didn’t really understand it.

The words coming out of Steve's mouth burned like salt on a wound. The Soldier’s mind was trying to forge connections down pathways that had been burned away, and it made the Soldier nauseous and dizzy. He remembered seeing his face in a museum display staring back at him. He remembered the feeling of being in uniform the first time, and his mom crying when he left for the war. He had been scared and proud and excited. 

And then it had all gone to Hell. What Steve was saying sounded right, the truth had to be in there somewhere.

"Bucky, listen to me. I know I let you down. I let you fall and I let you get taken. I didn’t save you. But I'm here now, and I'm gonna fix everything."

The Soldier felt a familiar sense of frustration. So predictable, Steve thinking he could do anything he could set his mind to. When would he realize that some things could never be fixed?

Capture, torture, rescue, falling, all of these things seemed familiar, but he couldn't straighten them out in his mind. He put the troubling thoughts and emotions aside and looked Steve in the eye.

Those eyes were so familiar.

His head ached, and he knew it was going to get worse, it always did when he got reminded of the gaping holes in his memory. He had a limited amount of time before the anxiety and pain crippled him.

He could run from the pain, but wouldn't this happen again? Maybe Hydra would find him and give him another mission and he wouldn't have to think anymore, wouldn't have to see Steve ever again. He wouldn’t have to remember his mom’s cooking, or little Sis tagging along, or that panic when Steve couldn’t breathe. He wouldn’t remember falling. He didn’t want to remember that.

Steve could tell he was thinking over his options.

"Hydra is gone, Bucky. You're on your own and you need help. I can help you, we can help you remember. You can be a person again."

That last line hit the Soldier like a bullet. He had once been a person, hadn't he? How long had it been? Had it been easier, being a person? He thought it must have hurt more, and that's why he'd given up on it.

Still. Hydra, gone? He didn't believe that, not for a second. They'd find him, and they'd punish him for trying to defect. They'd freeze him again.

He shuffled back toward the edge of the building. He couldn't risk the pain of another wipe, he couldn't risk freezing. He'd hide until he felt better, and then he'd finish Steve off.

Steve came forward. He could tell he was losing him.

"They won't come for you, Bucky. They're weak. They're scattered. We're picking them off one by one. We can keep you safe and get you the help you need."

Was Hydra really broken? That would explain the lack of contact. And he believed what Steve was saying, odd as it was. He believed that Steve's intentions were pure. He had let the Soldier hit him, after all. How bad could he be?  
The Soldier fell forward onto his knees. Maybe Steve's voice brought back memories that burned their way in, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this pain was better than the numbness of being a weapon. Maybe he wanted to be a person again.

He couldn't express any of this out loud. His body was shaking with fear of what he was doing. Disobeying meant cryo, but he couldn't help himself.

He fell to his knees before Steve, who stared down at him in shock.

"Bucky, will you let me help you?"

Bucky nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

"Let's move, let's move!" A woman's voice rang out loudly over a speaker. Bucky could hear it booming from Steve's earpiece.

Steve immediately shouted back, "Stand down!" Too late. Giant helicopters surrounded the building, blades roaring, and men in black and blue stormed the rooftop, guns pointed straight at the Soldier.

"Bag him and tag him," a nonchalant voice chimed over the earpiece. "Nice work, gramps."

"I didn't make the call! He came willingly!"

"Au contraire, your little boyfriend requires the highest level security we've got. Can't risk a runner."

"Shut up, Tony, you don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not the one whose judgment is compromised. Step back, Cap, and let the extraction team take care of this."

Steve was looking at Bucky in horror.

"Buck, I swear I didn't plan it like this. We'll get this figured out, you’re not in trouble. Nothing’s gonna happen to you."

Bucky was shaking in fear, but as a dozen Shield agents hastily secured his arms behind his back with thick metal cuffs that snapped around the width of his biceps, he shrugged. 

The gesture was more for Steve’s benefit than his own. He had expected this.. That was the thing about being a weapon; you were bound to get treated like one.

Someone stabbed him in the back of the neck with a hypodermic needle, and he took the sharp pain without flinching. Within seconds his eyes were slipping closed, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his aching head eased into darkness. Now that was what he called an escape.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………...

He woke to blissful numbness. His head felt fuzzy, like before, but this fuzzy was more like the fluffy white of a cloud on a blue morning rather than a dark grey lightning storm. He heard voices, and a ringing, and saw white tiles on the ceiling. He was lying in a bed on his back, probably in a lab.

A lab... what was happening again? This was a nice lab, they must have gotten new facilities. He was probably getting an arm upgrade, a checkup, a new mission. A mind wipe.

There was something about mind wipes.

Oh, shit.

He opened his eyes and peered slightly to the right. Nothing. A window. This was no top secret underground Hydra bunker. It was a nice hospital room.

He peered to the left. Sitting in a chair was Steve.

He remembered. Steve was an old friend. His childhood playmate, his Captain during the war. His face brought back blurred memories of smiles and laughter. Steve had taken him somewhere that Hydra couldn't get him.

His mind was clearing, slowly. Steve's pieces were beginning to fit together, at least. They had grown up in Brooklyn together. He knew that. He believed it, anyway.

He turned over to look at Steve. Steve's head had been in his hands. Even super soldiers got tired; that was something he understood all too well. Steve looked up, even though Bucky hadn't made a sound. Maybe he'd heard his breathing change as he woke. 

"Bucky," he said. That name again, still unfamiliar. He kept wanting to ask who that was, even though he knew it was him. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"I’ve been worse," he grunted, the words grating over his vocal cords reluctantly. 

Steve nodded. “Okay.” He seemed reluctant to ask anything else, but Bucky knew what he wanted to know.

“I remember some.” 

Steve cracked a hopeful smile.

"You do?"

"We lived in New York. We were friends." His voice was weak, and forming full sentences was taking more effort than it should have, but he pushed through it.

Steve broke into a grin, and looked so relieved as to be close to tears.

"That's right, Buck." He waited for Bucky to say more, but he didn't have anything else to give Steve. That was all he'd been confident in saying. Everything else was still confused.

"I've been told not to tell you anything you don't already seem to remember. The oldest stuff will come back to you first. It's gonna be a long process."

"Who told you?"

"The doctors."

"Hydra?" Bucky asked, his mind whipping into a controlled panic. He tried to sit up in bed, and found that his arm was strapped in tightly. His metal arm was strapped down especially tight, the bindings so tight that he could barely move it. 

“Where am I?” He asked, jerking his arm forcibly out of the strap to sit up and get his bearings.The room didn't look secure enough. One entrance, glass windows, didn't look bulletproof. He started getting nervous. What if Steve had been tricked by Hydra? What if they’d taken his mind, too?

"I can't stay here," he said to himself nervously. The second the words left his lips, some kind of secret alarm must have been triggered. Men and women in black came pouring into the room, there must have been a dozen of them, all armed with big guns. Bucky categorized every last one of them and their ammo capacity in a second, going into fight mode despite his sincere doubt that he would be able to stand. Before anything could happen, Steve put himself between Bucky and the guards, hands outreached to both.

"He's just scared, he doesn't know where he is," Steve shouted. "Give me a chance to talk to him."

The men didn't move an inch, but they lowered their weapons. Bucky was comforted immediately that they couldn't be Hydra. Hydra never let down their guard. It seemed Steve was in charge here, and that probably meant Bucky was safe.

Bucky also noticed he was shaking. His fingers on his hand were trembling, and he sat back down. He realized he was in hospital pajamas, and judging by his vision blurring slightly at the edges, probably drugged. 

At least it was nice drugs for once. 

“You’re in Avengers Tower,” Steve explained once Bucky lay back down obediently. “Tony Stark’s house-- Iron Man? You know about him?” Bucky shook his head, and Steve chuckled. “He’ll hate that. Well, he’s an Avenger like me. You know about that?” Bucky nodded. It had been in the mission briefing. 

“I’ll give you some reading material when you’re feeling up to it. I can catch you up to speed on what’s happening now, I’m just not supposed to tell you stuff you could remember on your own. Apparently you might confuse reality with stories.” He smiled conspiratorially, as though he thought it unlikely.

Bucky knew exactly how that would play out. With so many blank spaces in his memory, anything he was told might try to fit neatly in the empty spot-- whether it belonged or not. It was a very familiar brainwashing method, and not one he was eager to try again.

“What should I do to remember the real stuff?”

“Time. And lots of sleep. Exposure to familiar things might help, but I’m sorry to tell you you’re stuck in here for now.”

That didn’t bother Bucky in the least. He knew he was safe here from Hydra, at least while Steve was around. He was so tired he could feel his eyes begging to close. 

Steve noticed. “You gonna be okay?” He asked, hovering close.

Bucky wanted to tell him that the short answer was no way, long answer, no fucking way. One look at Steve, however, and he was shot through with guilt. Steve wanted his friend back, and Bucky only wished that friend was still around to give to him. Bucky nodded tiredly.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said, trying to force a light tone. It came out unnatural, almost desperate. “I owe you one.”

The words had been chosen for Steve’s benefit, and they worked. Tears sprang into Steve’s eyes, and he shook his head, smiling.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Steve laughed, sitting back down in the chair by his bedside. Bucky turned to look out the window on the other side. Somewhere deep down, he smiled too. Steve had always been the crybaby between the two of them.

“By the way,” Steve added as an afterthought. “It’s 2015. I know that was my first question when I woke up. I’m not sure you knew.”

Bucky hadn’t known, but maybe that was the difference between him and Steve. He hadn’t cared enough to ask.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks later, Bucky was a lot less medicated, and a lot more miserable. A few days in his sedative dose had been lowered, and they’d started giving him mental repair drugs of some kind. He had actual scar tissue in his brain, which was a thought that scared the shit out of him. Some kind of nanobots were sent in to clean it up.

Bucky would never dare complain when everyone was trying so hard to help him, but recovery was hell. He had screaming nightmares almost every night that left his throat raw and hoarse. A lot of the memories that came while he was awake were no better, though he held back on the screaming and clung to reality with a death grip when the flashes hit him like strobe lights. Hunkering down mindlessly in a rat-infested alley hadn’t been worse than lying in that glassy white hospital room with pillows that people came in and fluffed every few hours. 

Steve and the doctors assumed it was memories of being tortured and experimented on that reduced him to a shaking, incoherent mess every time they tore through. He elected not to explain that the worst memories were about things he had done himself, not what had been done to him. (Though there were plenty of those memories too; Chains, needles, and knives abounded in his dreamworld.) 

His own actions haunted him. He’d killed innocents, a lot of them needlessly and thoughtlessly. Relearning who Bucky Barnes had been was helping him to see how cruel and empty he had become as the Winter Soldier. He’d murdered without reason, massacred on occasion, on orders. Being around Steve and the nice doctors and nurses, good people with functioning moral compasses, was beginning to make him feel like a monster.

Everyone said it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have a choice, Steve told him the one time he’d brought it up.

Late one night, he’d been awakened by Steve’s large hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him back to reality. The doctors had told him not to disturb Bucky during the nightmares, not to delay the process, but Steve couldn’t watch him suffer. That night, like so many other nights, Steve had been the lifeline that pulled Bucky out of the darkness. He’d sat up, chugged a glass of water, and still panting had looked at Steve and said what was on his mind without thinking.

“You shouldn’t help me,” he’d choked, “After what I’ve done.”

“It wasn’t you doing that,” Steve had insisted, almost in a knee-jerk response. “You were brainwashed, Bucky, you were a prisoner of war, you’re not responsible for what they forced you to do. Of course we’re gonna help you.”

Bucky hadn’t argued any more. He realized then that he would never be able to explain to Steve that he’d had periods of relative autonomy. That he’d had the ability to decide who to kill. That he’d frequently decided to kill more than was strictly necessary, in order to be as neat as possible.

That he’d enjoyed it.

No, Steve could never know what a monster his old friend had become. Bucky didn’t know if he would ever be in that situation again, but he knew that monster was still there. It had probably been there before he’d been a POW. Hydra may have awakened it, but it had always lurked inside Bucky, that capacity for violence. A willingness, sometimes an eagerness, to kill.

Steve couldn’t know. Bucky had gone back to sleep, burying his guilt somewhere unmoveable.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Steve was grateful beyond words to have Bucky recovering, but he knew it wasn’t easy. He could tell Bucky held back a lot of his pain, and it was obvious that Bucky was reluctant to tell him about any of what he remembered. The nightmares, and Bucky’s reaction to them, made it clear that it was stuff Steve really didn’t want to hear. 

Whenever Bucky started screaming in his sleep, Steve instinctively wanted to rush in and wake him up, to tell him it wasn’t real and that he was safe. When it first started happening he’d done that every time. He had run in and shaken Bucky awake, restrained him if necessary, held him and talked to him until he came back to himself. 

After a while, however, the doctors had told him it was setting back his friend’s memory recovery. Steve hadn’t cared until Bucky had agreed with them.

“Just let me deal with it, Steve. I can handle it.”

Steve knew he could. He wished he didn’t have to.

Steve wasn’t satisfied with the treatment so far. Bucky was getting pills and scans and injections nearly every day. Bucky sat quietly and dealt with it, but Steve could tell by how he sometimes flinched away from the needle that it was difficult. It had only been two weeks, and Bucky was regaining memories at a rapid pace thanks to Banner’s and Stark’s medical intervention, but Bucky was frequently reduced to a shaking ball of nerves, or worse, passed out from finally requesting sedatives to quiet his mind.

It was Natasha that finally convinced him to do something about it. She had been in New York since the day Bucky had been brought in, but every time Steve had asked if he could see her, she’d been busy. Bucky had been in treatment for weeks before Steve finally caught sight of her.

It had been a long night. Stark, who Steve suspected Bucky had come to dislike almost as much as Steve had, had been trying out some new drugs, with Bucky’s permission of course. They had been effective, but too much so. Bucky remembered a good decade’s worth of events in a twenty four hour period, and it had given him a migraine so bad he’d told Steve it felt like he’d been shot in the head. They’d finally put Bucky out of his misery with a sedative, and Steve had argued with Tony for an hour about the difference between their understanding of the word “successful treatment.”

When Tony finally left, stubbornly sure of himself as ever, Steve had stalked back to Bucky’s room furiously. He was caught off guard by Natasha lurking in the hallway.

She was staring at Bucky through the glass window, standing still as a statue.

“Nat. You came.”

“Of course. You asked me to.” She turned to him with a teasing half smile, her hair swinging around her face loosely. He wondered what she’d been up to. She was wearing civilian clothes, but she looked distracted and a little tired. There were dark circles ringing her pale blue eyes.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, which was his nice way of saying ‘it took you long enough.’ She shrugged noncommittally, offering no explanation for the delay.

“How are you holding up?” She asked him, giving him her full attention. Steve found himself shrugging back at her. 

“It’s bittersweet. He’s back, but he’s not really back, you know?”

Natasha nodded, her face expressionless.

“But he remembers you?”

“Yeah. He’s remembered a lot, got the broad strokes of everything I was around for, anyway. I don’t know how much else, but he’s getting there.”

“Complete memories?”

“I don’t think so.”

Natasha nodded again.

“I heard you and Tony.”

“You were eavesdropping? Why am I not surprised,” he laughed. “What did you think?” Frustrating as Natasha could be to deal with at times, he valued her opinion very highly. She had proven herself to be a good friend despite her occasional breaches of trust. That was part of her deal, he’d come to accept, albeit reluctantly.

“You’re too soft,” she said flatly.

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re siding with him,” he said, referring to Tony. 

“I’m not. You’re both wrong. You’re focusing all your efforts on the memory recovery, but you said he remembered everything about you already, right?” Steve nodded.

“Why’s it so important he remember all the rest right away?” Steve didn’t really have an answer for her.

“You’re rushing it, and it’s overwhelming him. It’s unnecessary. He should be focusing on adjusting to a normal life . He doesn’t need all those years of bad memories haunting him to do that. He probably doesn’t even want them.”

Steve hadn’t thought of that, that they didn’t need to be doing this treatment at all. He knew Tony wanted more information on Hydra, and Bucky was willing to give him what he wanted. In fact, Bucky would probably be willing to do anything he was told without question. 

But Natasha was right. What did Bucky want? Had he thought to find out?

“You think he should be discharged?”

“I think some normalcy might help. Just speaking from my own experience.” She sounded nonchalant, but Steve knew she knew what she was talking about. It had been a while since he had read her file, since it was weird to do that for someone you were friends with, but he knew her memories were far from intact. She had probably fought hard to get to where she was, normalcy-wise.

“Will the memories come back on their own anyway?”

“Maybe it’s for the best they don’t,” she suggested.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve talked to Bucky about the normalcy plan, and he seemed keen on getting off the drugs and out of the hospital. In fact, he’d seemed downright ecstatic by Bucky standards, meaning his eyes had brightened a little and he’d said all of ten words unprompted. His friend’s wishes finally made clear, Steve didn’t hesitate to inform Tony that they’d be ending the treatment.

He took a little too much pleasure in seeing the disappointed look on Tony’s face.

“You know there’s good intel locked up in that brain. Give me a few more days, double the dosage, we can get this over with and forget all about it,” Tony pleaded. Steve didn’t doubt that somewhere deep, deep down Tony had good intentions, but he sounded a little too mad-scientist-y for his taste.

“We’re done, Stark,” Steve had said, allowing no argument. Tony continued to complain, apparently deaf to Steve’s defensive tone.

“He’s had enough doctors screwing with his brain,” Steve reminded him. “Look where it’s got him.”

“Last I checked it was an experimental treatment that got you those abs, Captain Crunch. I wouldn’t throw stones.”

Steve checked his anger, knowing it did Bucky no good to argue with Tony. It was pointless. Since Tony loved to argue, it merely fed the flames.

“Doesn’t make any difference,” Steve said. “You’ve done your part, but it’s time to end this.”

“Until Fury wants more from him,” Tony warned. “Enjoy your reprieve. It won’t last.” With a childish sneer, Tony left, off to return to whatever strange project he was working on with Banner.

Thanks to Steve’s intervention, Bucky had the luxury of a clear mind for the first time in he didn’t know how long. The former Winter Soldier had spent an hour that morning playing Sudoku on Steve’s iPad, and still could hardly believe how well the numbers stuck in his head. Keep this up, he thought to himself, and maybe someday you’ll be able to dress yourself without being ordered to.

The autonomy thing was a bit of a roadblock for him. It made no difference in a hospital where his food was brought to him and his days were scheduled, but he wondered what he’d be expected to do with his days after he was discharged. Part of him hoped, selfishly, that Steve would continue to stay by his side. It was easier that way. He was certain that left to his own devices he’d fuck everything up.

The Winter Soldier could take care of himself, live alone, and fill his time with something productive. James Barnes, he wasn’t so sure about. He didn’t want to risk reverting to old habits, given the strong odds that those habits were socially unacceptable in his new environment. Knife twirling for hours at a time would probably give off the wrong vibe. Likewise with training from dawn until dusk. Doubly likewise with staring into space, going over his orders until his mind went numb.

In Avengers Tower, he would be expected to eat normally and socialize. He wondered if they would be kind enough to throw him in jail instead.

Steve had promised help of the professional kind. There was someone he knew, someone very special, who just so happened to be an expert in PTSD. Bucky was well aware of who Sam was, as Steve mentioned him more than he realized. Not to mention Bucky had a strong feeling they’d met before once Steve described him.

Steve admitted that there had been an encounter. Bucky had hunted down Steve and two friends. Sam had been one of them.

Bucky was aware the confrontation on the road had been he and Steve’s first face to face reunion. He didn’t remember it, but he got the gist. Regardless, Sam was coming that day to go with them to move Bucky into his new place. Whether Sam would really play the therapist or was in fact just required security, Steve was as excited as a child on Christmas that they were meeting.

“This guy better have wings,” Bucky remarked, internally rolling his eyes. Steve had overhyped Sam, crediting him with tracking down Bucky and instrumentally organizing his capture (Bucky’s word, not Steve’s.) Bucky knew damn well that he had been the one to go looking for Steve and not the other way around. He’d gone to Brooklyn, for God’s sake, of course he wanted to be found. But he let Steve imagine Sam had saved the day, since it seemed so important to him to give the guy a gold star for effort.

 

Sam was coming down the hallway now, visible through the window; Steve missed Bucky’s joke. Bucky couldn’t stay mad about that long, however. Sam had too much charm. Tall, handsome, and genuine, he had a strong presence that put Bucky more at ease. It was exactly the opposite of what he’d been expecting. Sam shook hands and introduced himself, communicating silently through his posture and expression that while he might be on guard, he had only the best of intentions towards Steve’s old friend.

So this is who’s been looking after Steve, Bucky thought. He wondered how long they’d known each other.

Bucky sat on the edge of his hospital bed, lingering, while they chatted. He’d gotten dressed in real clothes, comfortable pants and a plain hooded sweatshirt, dark and unremarkable. His arm was mostly hidden, just his hand left uncovered. Bucky didn’t know if Steve didn’t like looking at it or if they thought he was self-conscious. He had nothing to pack, his room was waiting, but he wasn’t eager to move. Steve and Sam could sense that he was uncomfortable leaving and were taking it easy on him. They might have thought he didn’t notice their glances, silent comments on his state of mind, but he did. He noticed everything. More than they did, he was willing to bet.

He was in this position when they had an unexpected guest.

“I miss visiting hours?” Natasha asked, slipping in the door. Her appearance demanded Bucky’s full attention; that sensation of his memory banks going into overdrive kicked in. He knew her.

But he didn’t know her. She sent a nod in his direction.  
“Natasha. Nice to meet you.”

She was stunningly gorgeous. She had scarlet hair tied back in a ponytail and was dressed in jogging gear.

He had to remind himself to respond. He inclined his head the bare minimum number of degrees, and she turned away, seeming satisfied.

“We heading out?”

“In a minute. What prompted the visit?”

“Was in the neighborhood,” she shrugged. She offered no further explanation, and Steve didn’t look for any. Bucky sensed that there was more to the story. He also sensed that they would probably never get to hear what it was.

“This is perfect,” Sam said. “Bucky, you now officially know all of your neighbors. We live on the same floor.”

Bucky took this in. The Avengers dormitory, one big superhero sleepover, and he’d been invited. There couldn’t be anywhere safer for him—or more dangerous, if he were to screw up.

He stood, signaling that he was ready to go. Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, and they walked to the elevators happily, Steve and Sam chatting breezily. Their talking seemed to be for the purpose of lightening the atmosphere more than to actually communicate something important, but it helped distract from Natasha and Bucky’s silence. From the way Steve glanced at her, he got the impression that she was behaving slightly uncharacteristically, though not enough to raise concern.

The elevator pod raced up dozens of floors until it reached one near the top. It wasn’t numbered; Bucky had no idea how they’d gotten the elevator to take them there. The ride only took a few seconds, but Bucky had the chance to look at Natasha more closely.

She was somewhat pale, and her eyes were a cold ice blue. Her face was unreadable, completely blank, but she was avoiding looking at him. She noticed his staring, but didn’t do anything about it.

They got out of the elevator and emerged onto a glass hallway. The ceiling and walls were clear glass panes with views of the city.

Bucky was impressed and concerned. It didn’t look secure, but he figured it was anyway. If he’d heard right this place had survived an alien attack. It hadn’t come through unscathed, but it was probably built up stronger.

Steve began the tour.

“That way,” he pointed, “Are the training rooms. There’s a dozen, all for different purposes. Down there are also Natasha and Clint’s rooms. Clint won’t be here much, not for a while, anyway.”

“Where you going, Nat?” Sam asked.

“I’ve got to make a call. Have fun, guys.” She flashed a smile, then dashed off to her room. Bucky could read in her gait that she’d been through assassin training, as well as, he noticed with interest, dance.

“She does that,” Steve explained. Sam nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t take it personally,” he said. “She likes me, I think, and she does that stuff all the time.”

“I recognize her,” Bucky said vaguely, thinking hard back to where he’d seen her.

“You tried to kill her a few times,” Steve assisted.

“Guess I blew my shot with her,” Bucky muttered. Steve and Sam gaped.

“Was that a joke?”

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Fury came across Natasha in the training area that evening. She was going through her usual exercises with unusual enthusiasm. 

“Wouldn’t wanna be that guy,” he remarked as she slammed a roundhouse kick into the dummy’s throat. The dummy head popped off and rolled across the floor, where Fury picked it up. 

“You got a mission for me?”

“Only if you want it. I was gonna give it to Tony. Recon on a Hydra base where we think the Soldier used to be held.”

“I want to go,” she said definitively, turning to give him her full attention. Fury blinked. She wasn’t normally one to request missions from him. The typical pattern between them was more authoritarian-- he gave orders, she followed them. It was what they were both used to, and they preferred it despite their personal familiarity.

“You can tag along if you want. We want intel, whatever they haven’t destroyed. We’re hoping for names.”

“How’d you find the place?”

“The Soldier told us. He’s remembering some good stuff. Tony and Banner really pulled that one off.”

Natasha thought of the migraines and the screaming nightmares Bucky had been through to get that intel. It could have waited. She gestured for Fury to toss her the head, and he threw it underhand to her. She popped it back on the dummy and, without hesitation, kicked it back off again.

Now that was satisfying.


	5. Chapter 5

“We’re neighbors again,” Steve grinned. “This is gonna be great.”

“Great,” Bucky echoed, looking around the new apartment he’d been given in Avengers tower. It was a large studio space, furnished with sleek, modern furniture and high end electronics. The TV was the biggest he’d ever seen, and the computer Stark had given him was thin enough to mistake for sheet metal. He wished the windows weren’t so large, taking up almost the whole back wall. The ceiling loomed overhead, empty and threatening.

“You like it?” Steve asked. His eyes were hopeful. Bucky lied.

“Sure. Yours is right next door, you said? I thought you lived in DC?”

“I split my time. This is where I oughta be now, I figure.” Steve was still smiling, he was always smiling. Bucky wondered if he was really that happy to have him back or if he was trying to make him feel better. It wasn’t working.

“I got my records shipped, finally. Some of your old favorites. You interested?”

Bucky nodded and went along to Steve’s apartment. It was directly next door, the doors only feet apart, both facing the common area—another security issue. Steve’s apartment was more comfortable than Bucky’s own, in his opinion. He’d gotten classic American furniture rather than the sleek modern set Bucky had. Where Bucky’s room could have been in a magazine or a high end hotel, Steve’s was a home. He had comic books and newspapers strewn across the antique coffee table, photos of his parents and the Howling Commandos displayed on a side table. It had his personal, blast-from-the-past touch everywhere, emphasized by the large record player in the corner. Steve had a sizeable record collection of the oldies they’d grown up on. Bucky wondered if this was for his benefit, too. Somehow he doubted it.

Steve picked out a big band record and dropped the needle onto it. The sounds of Count Basie filled the room. Steve watched Bucky expectantly, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

The music was familiar, and sounded good even to Bucky, who’d been expecting disappointment. It reminded him of the smell of cigarette smoke and floral perfume, the sensation of dancing with a girl in his arms, scuffed wooden dance floors and calls to buy war bonds and support the troops. The memories weren’t bad ones, just distant. He savored them, closing his eyes and listening to every note.

There was something missing. There were couples dancing, Steve had been right beside him. The dance hall was packed, but something felt empty. Bucky realized it was him. The music was the same, Steve was the same, but Bucky Barnes was gone. The person standing in his place didn’t take as much joy from music as Bucky had. He didn’t enjoy anything the way he’d used to. He didn’t dance.

It was a bitter realization.

“It’s good,” he said, forcing a smile that he probably didn’t pull off. “We used to dance to this kind of music at war benefits.” It hardly conveyed the content of his revelation, but Steve didn’t want to hear him complain.

“The girls were always all over you,” Steve remarked. This got a slight laugh from Bucky, thinking how those days were over. Any girl in her right mind wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole now.

“You probably have a line out the door waiting on a date with you now,” he threw back. Steve shrugged. 

“Not as much as you’d think. I’m pretty busy with Avengers stuff.”

Bucky thought about this. He shouldn’t be surprised Steve kept to himself nowadays. He was a fish out of water in so many ways, different from Bucky, but still. He knew Steve took fame and being a role model very seriously, he always had. He probably didn’t have much of a social life.

“Nat’s trying to get me back out there. I’ve met some nice people, but it just hasn’t really clicked.” Steve fiddled with the record player while Bucky tried to picture Natalia setting Steve up on dates. He could, very clearly, imagine her teasing him, asking him what kind of girls he liked. She probably enjoyed that. “I told you Peggy’s still alive,” Steve added.

“She’s not in her right mind, you said.”

“She has good days and bad days. Kind of like you.” Steve stopped playing with the record player and looked up at Bucky, stricken. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound--”

“It’s fine. It’s kinda nice to hear you complain for once. You’re always Mr. Sunshine.”

“I don’t mean to be over the top. I’m just trying to enjoy having my old friend back. Don’t wanna look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?”

Bucky smiled a real smile. It wasn’t much, but it was sincere. 

“I get it. I know I’m not the same.” Not the same person, he meant. Steve got it.

“I’m not the same. Peggy’s not the same. The world’s not the same. Doesn’t mean it can’t still be good.”

Bucky took that in. If he were more like Steve, maybe he could see it that way. Changed as he was, Steve didn’t wake up every morning with a new victim’s face to haunt him. Steve deserved to be happy.

When Steve invited him over for an old movie that evening, Bucky went. When Steve offered him popcorn, he ate it. But all along he kept thinking how he didn’t deserve this. Seeing Steve again, having all these comforts around, felt like too much goodness for someone like him. When he’d been the Soldier, he’d been treated like the Soldier. That had made sense. But now, he felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a monster being treated like a human. It didn’t make sense, and it didn’t feel right. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“You got everything?”

“I got it.”

“Alright, back to the jet, boys!”

Tony tore off in a streak of red and gold. He wouldn’t be needing the jet to get home. Natasha didn’t feel any jealousy about some of her teammates’ ability to fly. Sometimes being a bit more analog came in handy. It felt more intimate to strangle someone with your bare hands than to blast them with an energy beam from a distance. 

It also meant a bit more privacy. There was no camera feed from her eyeline. She had a little more leeway to get things done that Fury might not approve of.

She followed the four SHIELD agents out of the building and onto the jet. She didn’t think anyone had noticed what she’d done. If they had, she doubted they’d have the guts to question it. The four agents all must have had years of training and field experience, and yet not one of them had met her eye through this entire mission. 

Natasha tried to be nice. She could be a bit prickly, sarcastic, but usually to no harm. She liked people, so long as they kept their distance. Her flirtatiousness was part of that-- she could express approval of a person without inviting real closeness.

People generally didn’t return the compliment. Even those that found her funny or attractive, or just admired her skill, kept their distance whether she wanted them to or not. Her reputation preceded her. 

Not just her record, her confirmed kills in the hundreds that were legend among the intelligence community. The name Black Widow alone did it. 

Don’t get close unless you have a death wish. I’m probably using you. I’m flirting because I want something. I’m complimenting you to trick you into trusting me. I’m lying to you. 

Manipulation and lies were her calling card. She lied every day in some way or another. Last week it had been Steve and Sam. Yesterday it had been Fury. Today it was Tony. All to protect herself. All to get what she wanted. 

Once the jet took off, she unbuckled her seat belt and walked to the back, where no one could see her. Her laptop was in a bag tucked behind the parachutes. She started it up, and opened the tiny case she had in her pocket holding a flash drive of Hydra files.

She was supposed to give the drive to Tony to upload and analyze. Well, she would tell him, she’d been bored. She’d gone ahead and uploaded them to the SHIELD server herself.

If he found out what she’d done, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Scratch that, it was Tony, of course he could recover a few deleted files from a flash drive. But he might not realize they were missing. He might not be curious enough to check. That was what she was banking on.

She opened the folder on the Winter Soldier. She found the subfolders-- they were all medical records, but there were lengthy notes on his activities and condition. She navigated to the files that were recovered from the KGB decades ago-- scanned copies of copies of yellowed forms filled out by some Russian doctor with the messiest handwriting she’d ever seen. She wondered if anyone would have been able to read this even if she’d left it.

She knew exactly what years to look for. The ‘80s. The Black Widow program. She read about his work as a trainer, and her finger twitched over the delete button. She decided to leave it, though. Priorities. Less is more. It had to go unnoticed.

She skipped forward. She saw her own name, and paused.

Natalia Romanova. Close, but not quite the name she was known by now. Hearing the Soldier call her Natalia the other day had been unsettling in a good way. It had brought back memories she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore.

Memories she was reading about right in front of her. Agents found to be in a sexual, possibly romantic relationship. Endangering Soldier’s conditioning, had to be stopped.

He was put in cryo immediately. And was repeatedly put in cryo whenever he wasn’t needed. The pattern of freezing and unfreezing, of aggressive mind wipes, was restarted because of her. 

She’d known that, but the reminder hurt like hell. As if she didn’t have enough red in her ledger. The whole damn thing was running over with red ink by now. 

She deleted the report that mentioned their relationship, leaving the rest. So they’d known each other. So he’d trained her, done a few missions with her. Then he was put in cryo for no reason and that was that.

Well, if anyone noticed she’d deleted a page, they could confront her about it. Hell, if they read about it, she’d get over it. Just so long as nobody told Bucky.

He had enough to worry about.


	6. Chapter 6

3 AM, and the Winter Soldier was crying in the shower. He’d been in there for an hour, wondering when the hot water would run out. It had taken him a while to realize that Stark could probably afford hot water for a century. 

He wondered how long it would be until the Avengers’ generosity ran out. He wasn’t providing them with anything useful in his current state. A weapon was worth little on the shelf. As a human person, he wasn’t worth anything.

Everyone was always reminding him that the process of recovery and transition was difficult. He’d expected to struggle, but he hadn’t realized just how hard it would be. The contrast between where he had been and where he lived now was too great. Every night his dreams reminded him of the life he’d left behind. If you could even call it a life.

The dream he was trying to wash away had been a rough one. A mission in Taiwan, a mob target, had been surrounded by henchmen. There had been dozens of them. In the dream they had just kept coming from the darkness, two appearing to replace every one he killed.

The Soldier had enjoyed that. He had been exhilarated by the violence, the challenge. He didn’t fear death and he couldn’t remember the last time he had.

The mobster had been easy, a shot to the head and done. He could have walked out, but there was that perfectionist instinct. Do well for Hydra, he’d always thought. The better you are, the less you’ll be punished. He’d walked through the house.

Of course there were people left. People who’d had no intention of fighting him, who begged for their lives. He never gave mercy any thought. He’d just wanted a clean finish.

They were mostly servants, and an old woman who called him a monster. She’d looked right at him before he shot her with pure revulsion shining in her eyes. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked when he’d killed her.

Now she was back, and he felt the word she’d spit at him tattoo itself across his mind. The water made a hollow plinking sound as it hit the metal of his left arm, reminding him of what he could never get back. 

The guilt felt like a lead weight in his chest. He wondered what point there was in living under it, and briefly thought of how easy it would be to end things right then and there. It was only fair considering how many he’d killed.

It wasn’t fair to Steve, though. He had to keep trying. 

Bucky shut off the shower and toweled off, putting on a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t getting any sleep that night anyway, so he decided to go for a walk.

He shut the door to his apartment quietly, hoping not to wake Steve. Knowing Stark, there were probably all sorts of wires tripped every time he so much as breathed, but hopefully they wouldn’t wake anyone just because he decided to go for a midnight stroll.

He passed Steve’s apartment right next to his own, then Sam’s a bit further down. They all had their own TV’s, but there was a large couch with an even bigger screen in the common area they shared just across from their rooms. There was also a fully stocked bar off to one side. Bucky wondered when the last time he’d had a drink was.

He continued walking down to the long, glass enclosed hallway that bridged the two blocks of rooms. The training area was down there, along with Natasha’s and Clint’s rooms. Clint was never there. Bucky gathered he had ties somewhere else. However, Natasha, as far as he knew, lived there exclusively. He wondered if she had any friends or family outside of her work. Somehow he doubted it.

Walking mindlessly down the hallway towards her room, he saw a door in the glass wall on his left and decided to explore. There was a balcony outside overlooking the city. He stepped out and admired the bright, twinkling lights as far as the eye could see. He wondered if he could find Brooklyn from here in the daylight.

Without making a sound, Natasha joined him on the balcony. He’d seen her coming in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t say anything as she took the spot beside him. She looked out at the same view that he was staring at.

They stood silently for a few minutes before he felt obligated to explain.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I figured.”

“How did you-”

“Your door is alarmed.”

Bucky sighed.

“I figured too. Are you big brother?”

“Tuesday and Thursday nights I am.”

“Sorry.” He traced a metal finger across the railing, admiring the glint of moonlight on the titanium. “They don’t trust me not to defect.”

“They don’t trust you not to hurt yourself.” 

He looked up at her, surprised. She held his gaze steadily, pale eyes silent. Her face was achingly familiar, but his memories of her sat just out of reach, taunting him.

“These people really have their priorities screwed up,” he grimaced, looking back at the skyline. 

“Not sure I agree with that,” she said, her voice gone soft.

More silence. It felt comfortable, simply appreciating the view. Bucky didn’t feel like he was expected to say anything to fill the void, which was a relief.

“I’ll be right back. Try not to jump,” she quipped, walking back down the hall for some reason. Bucky marveled that she could make a joke like that, which would have infuriated Steve if he’d heard it. He supposed, as an assassin like himself, she, too, was familiar with death and all its accoutrements. No need to shy away.

She came back with a very large bottle in one hand, and two glasses in another. She set the bottle on the balcony rail and poured out two heavy-handed servings, handing him one. He took a sip.

“Stolichnaya,” he remarked in surprise. The burn was strikingly nostalgic. “I like this,” he added, realizing it was true without knowing why. He looked at her, suddenly desperate to place her. That red hair had once been darker, and her face younger and more open. He’d known her better than he thought he had.

She turned her face away, gesturing at the glass. 

“Drink. It’s expensive.”

He tried to think of her remembered face one last time, but it slipped away. He gave up and drank, hoping it would get closer, but it only grew more dim. It would have to wait.

She finished her vodka quickly. He realized she was probably trying to leave, and he didn’t want her to do that.

“Natalia,” he said suddenly, and she turned to him. He didn’t realize what name he’d used, or why. 

“How do you do it?” He asked in desperation. “How do you live with it?”

She knew what he was referring to. The guilt must have been hitting him hard. She’d known since she’d overheard Sam talking about the VA and civilian casualties. She also knew Bucky’s situation was more complex. How did you deal with knowing you’d been working for the bad guys? How did you come to terms with the fact that you’d been good at killing? That it was all you were good for? That you’d enjoyed it?

A lot of his problems were her problems, too.

“You wake up every day and you try to pay it back,” she told him honestly. “One day at a time.”

“But I’m not doing anything.”

“Then start.”

He took that in. Her bluntness was refreshing.

“How is working for SHIELD?”

“Different. They don’t torture you, they just make you do press conferences.”

That earned a laugh from him, and it felt like an accomplishment.

“Fury will want to use you eventually,” she continued. “But you always have the option to walk away. You want to retire to some beach in Florida, they’ll let you.”

Bucky tried to imagine himself, metal arm and all, relaxing on a beach, and laughed at the ridiculousness of the image. That was at least two laughs in one conversation, and neither of them forced. A new record.

“I need to work or I’ll go crazy. I think that’s part of my problem.”

“Give it some more time. It’ll come.”

He nodded, trusting her. She set her empty glass down on the balcony.

“Alright. Babysitter’s going home. Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“Funny.”

She was about to walk away without even saying goodnight. Bucky hated to see her go. On impulse, he stopped her.

“Natalia, wait,” he said. She spun around, her hair swishing with the speed of her movement. Her face carefully blank, she waited to hear what he would say.

He stared at her face another moment, then seemed to forget what he was going to say. He shook his head.

“Goodnight,” he sputtered. She left without a word.

Something had come to him in that moment. A memory, distinct and clear, of the two of them on a balcony long ago. It had been snowing, and Moscow had lain below them, dark and cold. He had brushed her dark red hair away from her face and kissed her, and her lips had tasted like Stolichnaya.


	7. Chapter 7

That night, he read her entire file. He didn’t sleep. It was almost a waste of time, however. There was no mention of him, and very little detail on her life with the KGB. Even her Wikipedia page had more information, though it was all nonsense and speculation.

A few days passed, and she seemed to have gone away. He didn’t know if it was a mission, or she was simply avoiding him, until he spoke with Sam.

Sam was cooking pancakes for him and Steve one morning, humming to himself as he sprinkled chocolate chips into the batter.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Steve asked with a wink at Bucky. “You’re serenading us.”

“Miracles do happen, my friend. You won’t believe who asked me out last night.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“Not Nat,” Steve said disbelievingly. Sam grinned. 

“We’re going out for drinks Friday night.”

Bucky felt a twinge of sadness. He liked Natalia-- her name was Natasha now, he reminded himself, but it just wouldn’t stick. Confusing history aside, he enjoyed being around her. She understood him and didn’t mind his silence. She made him laugh. If she was with Sam, he probably wouldn’t get to spend much time with her. 

It was probably for the best. She deserved someone outgoing and heroic like Sam. Bucky didn’t have a lot to offer anyone at the moment.

He listened as Sam tried to enlist Steve in helping him charm her.

“I don’t know what she likes. What kind of guys does she usually go for?”

“Honestly, I haven’t seen her date. She flirts a lot, but that’s about it. Unless she’s not telling me, which is certainly possible. Maybe ask Clint?” Steve suggested awkwardly. He knocked eggs around on his plate with his fork without eating any of them. He didn’t seem thrilled about Sam’s new love interest, Bucky noted.

“Too bad he’s not here or I would. So she doesn’t date, huh? Guess I’m the exception. I wish I knew why, out of nowhere.”

“She likes you,” said Steve. 

“I hope so. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

Steve nodded, understanding the sentiment. He had felt intimidated by Natasha too, more times than he could count. She was a good person deep down, but there was a part of her that was hard as diamond that he didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Bucky wasn’t surprised that they knew so little about her. People always described Natasha as an enigma, that much was clear from his research. That unreachable facade was a defense mechanism that kept her safe. He could remember vaguely a snippet of conversation. He’d been reminding her not to show unnecessary emotion, not to let anyone in, ever. She’d teased him.

“Even you, Soldier?”

“Especially me.”

She hadn’t listened, of course. 

But then, Natasha now was different from Natalia then. She was no longer a girl. She’d defected from the KGB, changed her life, and learned to trust a select few. He didn’t know what she was like now. Maybe Clint and Steve did. Maybe Sam would learn.

…………………………………………………………………………………

 

Bucky set his tablet aside. He’d been trying to concentrate on reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, but the noise in the common area was too much. 

Clint had returned from wherever he’d been, on some mission Bucky didn’t have clearance to know about. The Avengers who’d been in town had thrown a little reunion dinner complete with Thai food and red wine. Bucky had greeted Clint politely when they were introduced, shook hands like a good, normal person, and upon receiving an approving smile from Steve, had immediately fled to the safety of his room and disappeared into his book.

Just when he thought the party would start winding down, they put on a loud movie or something that was making them laugh uproariously. Bucky needed a change of scenery. Leaving his book, he decided to go for a walk, maybe check on the balcony.

He wasn’t hoping Natalia would join him again. No, that wasn’t why he was going. He repeated that mantra to himself over and over as he walked out.

The movie turned out to actually be a series of Vines of Avengers Fails, video people had captured of the various Avengers doing stupid things or making mistakes. He watched over everyone’s shoulders as Clint attempted to get the Hulk to throw him up in the air closer to a target, and ended up smashed instead into a building. Everyone laughed, though Bucky could tell Bruce was faking. 

Steve turned around. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asked. He wasn’t drunk like the others. Super soldiers of his perfect variety didn’t get drunk, which was one of the few things Bucky didn’t envy him for. Steve merely seemed happy. Bucky nodded that everything was fine, and Steve gave him a thumbs up and returned to his videos and his teammates. Bucky headed out alone.

The balcony was unoccupied, and Bucky was planning to go out onto it when he saw that the lights were on in the training room. 

Come to think of it, Natalia hadn’t been watching the videos, though she’d been there earlier. He went down the hall, passing her and Clint’s rooms, to peer through the glass windows.

There she was, beating the stuffing out of a dummy. The head kept popping off, and she kept replacing it and popping it off again with another roundhouse.

Cute, Bucky thought.

He watched from the doorway, leaning on the jamb. She flicked her eyes at him once, but that was all the acknowledgement he got, until he couldn’t help but comment on her odd routine.

“I don’t think that move would work as well on a real target,” he said dryly. 

She dropped her stance and turned to look him up and down. Her gaze was cold. She cocked her head to one side like a cobra and responded, 

“Wanna find out?” 

He grinned, and her serious facade fell away as she laughed. She stepped back from the dummy and beckoned him over, wanting to spar. He shook his head immediately, not sure he was comfortable fighting again under his new circumstances. She beckoned more forcefully, but he stepped back, refusing.

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Scared I’ll make you look bad?”

“No, I just--” She gave him a final, shaming look, and he realized it was just cowardice talking. He didn’t like that.

“Alright. Okay.” He joined her on the mat and helped her push the dummies to the side, fetching the heads and tossing them to her like baseballs. They were solid, good quality. Tony certainly could afford the good stuff.

“This place all for you?”

“No. I’m just here a lot. Gotta keep up with the supers.” She slid the last dummy head into place. “You ready?” She asked, her voice neutral. Bucky sensed that she was giving him an out. 

“What do you think?” He told her. She smiled, and they squared off in the center of the mat. Natasha took a deep breath and held eye contact.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

She threw a high kick, a roundhouse to the head. He blocked it effortlessly, and gave her a look. Really?

She grinned. “That was a joke. Now for real, though.”

Her foot still in his hand, she suddenly flipped over to the other side, wrenching out of his grip. He spun to meet her, but she was faster. She got her arms around his neck before he pried her off. 

“You’ve gotten rusty, old man,” she crooned, backing off again and circling her prey like a fox on the hunt. Bucky straightened and righted his stance, trying to be doubly prepared. He hadn’t fought anyone as good as her in a long time.

“You’re better than I remember.”

To her credit, she didn’t show any surprise, but he knew she’d understood what he meant, that he remembered her. Of course, she didn’t know how much. He didn’t know how much. 

Blocking furiously as her blows came out of nowhere brought everything back. He had to fight to concentrate, because all the times he’d sparred with her before were blurring over, her shape overlapping with other Natalias from before. The confusion only lasted a moment, until she landed one really good hit to his solar plexus. He had to brace himself, and she smirked. She knew she was giving him a challenge, and she loved it.

Enjoying himself more, Bucky threw everything he had into the fight. She was quick as lightning, but he was strong. It was nearly impossible to land a blow on her, but when he managed one, it packed a punch. She never showed any sign that it hurt, but she would be bruised the next day.

All part of the fun, of course. She’d had a lot worse in knife training with him, but it had been her favorite. She liked hiding weapons in unexpected places. Surprise was her element. 

The best shot she had at taking him down was when she finally managed that one move that was her favorite. He knew she’d try it eventually, but he still didn’t see it coming until it was almost too late to stop. One second she was in front of him, the next he knew her legs were wrapped around his neck, and she was about to topple him to the ground by force of throwing her weight back. He wouldn’t have had a chance, had he not been the one to teach her that move, many years ago.

He remembered a younger Natalia, maybe fifteen, being hopelessly pummeled in every match. He didn’t hold back with her because, as he said, in the field no one would ever miss a chance to hurt her. She had to learn to adapt. 

Her size was her biggest weakness, but it could become a strength, he told her, if she played it just right. The core move and all its variations were her work, but he’d helped her to develop them, and he knew the weaknesses to exploit. What few there were.

He didn’t try to fight being thrown to the ground, offered no resistance. Instead he shifted his weight just enough to throw her balance on impact. She took him down, and he took her with him. From that point it was simply a matter of who was faster. Maybe she hadn’t practiced countering from that position in years. Maybe she was exhausted, unable to keep up with his superhuman stamina. Maybe she was conceding, although he considered that the least likely option. 

He pinned her to the ground, taking care to block her from using her legs, the most dangerous part of her body, to escape. He wrapped his metal hand around her neck, and it was over.

She stared up at him, eyes wide and full of some emotion he didn’t recognize.

“What was your mistake?” He asked her in Russian. Every time he pinned her in the old days, they had this same exchange. 

“I let myself get distracted,” she admitted breathily in the same language. Hearing her speak Russian sent a chill up his spine, and he was suddenly aware of how close her lips were, of how much contact there was between their bodies. It would be so easy to kiss her from that position. It wouldn’t be the first time.

There was a noise from somewhere behind them, and Bucky and Natasha both jerked their heads at the same time. The entire pack of Avengers and friends were watching from behind the window, with varying expressions of shock on their faces. 

The two assassins immediately sat up and moved apart. Tony-- and of course it was Tony-- opened the door and strode in like he owned the place. The fact that he did own the building didn’t make it any less annoying.

“That was better than Pay per View. We were taking bets on whether he was gonna kill you, Natasha.”

“That’s not funny, Tony,” Steve said Sternly. To Bucky he added, “They were just normal bets. You just made me a thousand dollars.” Bucky noticed that Bruce, Clint, even Sam were all digging into their wallets. 

“I’m impressed, Soldier,” Tony said. “I thought after being out of commission for the past month you’d be slower.” 

Proving Stark wrong might be the only good thing he got out of this, Bucky thought. Natalia didn’t look too bothered by their comments, but he didn’t like to hear them. As the Avengers turned to head back to the TV room, Bucky leaned down to her ear.

“You’re still exceptional,” he said softly in Russian. She looked surprised to hear this, and the only response he got was her walking a little faster to be ahead of him. She fell in next to Clint instead, who gave her a strange look.

“We came to get you two,” Tony informed them on their way down the glass hallway. “The night’s still young, we’re hitting the clubs. Trying to get Sammy laid.” He threw an arm around Sam playfully, their height difference making the gesture look comical. 

“No, we’re not,” Sam insisted, glancing at Natasha. Bucky figured he didn’t want to mess up his chance with her on their date. He wanted to tell him that she hardly cared if he slept with a hundred girls between now and then, it wouldn’t affect her judgment. Sex was so often work for her that she could separate it easily from a relationship if she pleased.

As he thought that, Bucky realized it was outdated. Maybe she’d changed, maybe she would prefer Sam only slept with her if they were going to date. He wondered whether SHIELD made its agents use sex as a weapon like the KGB had, or whether they were above that. Somehow he doubted it.

“So, if you’re coming,” Tony continued, oblivious to the fact that there was nothing Bucky would rather do less, “We leave in ten, so you’d better hit the showers fast.”

As soon as he said hit the showers, Bucky remembered what he and Natasha had used to do after training was over. They’d wait until no one was looking, then slip into the tiny shower stall together and…

“You okay?”

He realized Steve was looking at him. He’d changed his pace and lost step with the rest of them, and they were slowly leaving him behind in the hallway.

“Fine.” Bucky caught up and tried to pretend nothing had happened, but the memory was still there in his mind. He stared at the back of Natalia’s head, trying to drill inside her mind, to see whether she remembered what he did. She kept her back to him.

“You coming? It’ll be fun. You love dancing,” Clint was prodding her. She shook her head. 

“I’m just gonna go to bed.” She followed them to the living room and stayed just long enough to pour herself a drink, notably not Stolichnaya, and left, glass in hand.

“You want to come?” Steve asked Bucky pointlessly. Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you think?”

Steve laughed and patted him on the shoulder, then left. Bucky wondered what Steve could possibly see in such an outing, then realized that maybe he, too, was trying to get laid. Or maybe he just wanted a change of scenery and it was Bucky’s dirty mind lowering his friend down to the depths that he had found himself sunk to. Bucky went into his room and locked the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky could have hid out in his room all day, lost in memories, but his stomach protested as the smell of frying bacon drifted under his door. He tied his wet hair back in a bun and, slowly, peeked out the door.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Tony was at breakfast.

He was considering slipping back inside when Tony spotted him.

“Sleeping beauty, come to join us at last! Come on out here, buddy. Have some coffee.”

Bucky had hardly slept at all, but he didn’t have a better explanation to give them, so he kept quiet and sat down next to Steve. Sam was cooking for them all, pancakes and bacon with coffee on the boil. It would have been pleasant if it weren’t for Tony ruining everything with his smirking, all knowing expression aimed straight at Bucky.

“Good morning!” Steve chimed politely. Bucky gave him a nod and a glance sideways at Tony. What is he doing here? Steve shrugged.

Tony leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs. He would have looked in danger of tipping over if his face hadn’t been the picture of calm control. The inventor stared at Bucky like he was a map of someplace Tony had never been. There was something invasive about his gaze, maybe because Bucky knew he was studying him. It made Bucky’s skin crawl.

“So, Winter Soldier. Bucky, may I call you Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t respond out loud, but his expression said all it needed to.

“Is that just Cap’s pet name for you?” 

Smacked in the face with a pancake by an irate Captain America, he laughed like a child caught teasing his siblings, head thrown back unrepentantly. Sam rolled his eyes and set a plate of bacon in front of them, grabbing the pancake missile off of Tony’s shoulder and replacing it on Steve’s plate.

“‘Bucky’ is for friends only, Tony,” Sam chastised him. 

“Sorry, Mom.”

The appearance of food combined with Sam’s intervention defused the tension, and they all started eating. 

“No Natasha today?”

Bucky didn’t find it odd she wasn’t there, she never was, but Steve didn’t correct Tony.

“She doesn’t eat with us much lately.”

Bucky realized it was him. Well, if he’d had any doubt she’d been avoiding him, he knew now. It didn’t bother him, though; the alternative was for her to sit there awkwardly wondering how much of their past he remembered. He’d been so clueless, but now he kind of felt like avoiding her too. There was too much to say, and too little reason to say it.

Tony turned his unsettlingly sharp blue gaze onto him.

“Natalia doesn’t seem to mind your nicknames, does she?”

Bucky prepared himself for the interrogation. He’d known there was a chance Tony understood Russian last night, and now he was certain of it. Tony wanted to know everything about everything, of course he needed to know what had been going on.

He shrugged, brushing off the question entirely.

“How long did you know her back in the KGB?”

He was spot on. He must have read the files as soon as his suspicions were aroused, if he hadn’t before. SHIELD had everything on him, he’d been told. They’d gone so far as to raid a Hydra base for his records.

“I’m not sure,” he said, knowing it was pointless to lie. Steve and Sam, who he knew were polite enough not to have read his file, both looked shocked. He felt awful that he hadn’t told them. He wondered if concealing whatever had happened with Natalia was worth endangering their burgeoning trust for him. 

“How did you know each other?”

Bucky’s instincts told him not to give Tony what little he had on her. He didn’t know what Natalia knew, or what she might want to hide. 

“You probably know more than I do,” he said, avoiding answering again.

“Did last night feel at all familiar to you?” Tony asked, leaning in close. He stared Bucky down, eyebrows raised suggestively, trying to lead him to the answer.

“I trained her,” Bucky admitted reluctantly, preferring that it would come from him if Steve had to find out. Tony seemed determined to bring everything to light. He didn’t want to look like he was resisting. 

“Tony, you can’t feed him memories,” Steve said, frowning. “It could screw with the recovery process. You know this.” 

Steve was so focused on what Tony was doing that Bucky suddenly wondered whether his old friend had read the recovered files after all. He had no idea what was in there himself, and the idea aggravated him. It was so frustrating to be the last to know, especially about his own life.

Tony brushed off Steve’s warning.

“He remembered it himself. You have to admit it makes sense to have him work with her, from the Soviets’ perspective. He was their prize. Of course they’d have him share his skills, they were all about that sharing, right, Barnes?”

“You know this already,” Bucky said. Tony shrugged.

“I read about what was in the file, yes. But I’m curious about the more qualitative aspects here. I mean, you know-- obviously you know how tight lipped Natasha can be. But what was she like when she was younger? This is just friendly curiosity here, not business.”

“She was younger.” Bucky wasn’t sure what Tony was looking for here, until he realized the only reason Stark did anything-- he wanted to be entertained. When his first comment got him a disappointed, bored look, he continued.

“She was the only one who talked back to her handlers. She always got away with it because she was the best.”

“Even in Soviet Russia she was still sassy,” Sam laughed. “I like that.”

“So she stood out among the other girls that much?”

“Yes. Always.” Bucky suddenly wished he could take that back. Maybe it hadn’t been always, maybe it had just been from his point of view.

“In what way?”

“Best fighter. Best liar. Best dancer.”

“She could dance?” Sam asked, confused.

“The Widow program used ballet as a cover.”

“Wow. That is so cool.” Sam was grinning like an idiot. Bucky didn’t think it was cool. Natasha had loved being a dancer, but she’d only gotten a few tastes of it before it was always taken away. 

“Was this a long term thing?”

“It was… sporadic.”

“You really remember a lot about this,” Steve wondered. Bucky nodded reluctantly. Steve was probably wondering what triggered all this, and why Bucky hadn’t mentioned it.

“I was gonna tell you, I just…”

“It’s okay. You need time to process stuff, I get it. It’s just funny. She never mentioned any of this before, and we’ve been talking about you for months.” Steve was smiling on the surface, but Bucky could tell he was hurt and confused that Natasha would withhold something like that.

“Did you expect her to? It’s Natasha we’re talking about. She’s not exactly dying to talk about the bad old days.” Tony shrugged, but Steve didn’t look convinced.

Bucky shook his head.

“She might not remember. They wiped everyone’s memories back then. It’s not her fault.” That phrase came out so easily, absolving her, though he couldn’t have applied it to himself if pressed at gunpoint.

“Well, did you ask her?” Steve asked. Bucky shrugged, and Steve and Sam looked at each other in consternation. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony cut in, holding a finger in the air like a detective. “Why did they wipe your memories?”

“You know they did that all the time,” Sam hushed him. Tony frowned, unsatisfied, but sat back in his chair as Clint and Natasha walked in. They were both in t-shirts and jeans, civilian style.

“Headed out? You could eat with us,” Sam said invitingly. Natasha smiled but declined politely. 

“Thanks, but we’re checking out some hipster cafe he heard about.”

“Were you planning on telling us about Barnes being your trainer way back when?” Tony accused her.

“You heard about that, huh?” She looked vaguely amused. “I thought he looked familiar.”

“You could have said something.”

“It’s not really a time in my life I like to revisit,” she said firmly, as though he should have known that without being reminded. “No offense,” she threw in, smiling at Bucky apologetically.

He didn’t respond.

“I’ll text you later, Sam,” she said with a wink as she followed Clint out the door. Bucky remembered that their date was supposed to be that evening. He wondered what Sam would think if he knew the kind of stuff Bucky had been remembering all night. He wondered why it hurt so much to know that Natasha didn’t want those memories. There was a bitter, sharp ache growing in the pit of his stomach from thinking about it, and he didn’t understand.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Natasha had been sitting across from Clint for an hour listening to him talk about how his kids were doing, what his wife was planning for the house, his dog. She hadn’t heard most of it, and finally Clint had to snap his fingers in front of her face to grab her attention.

“You don’t look like you’re listening.”

“Something about a school play. They dressed as vegetables.”

“And it was very cute. I sent you pictures. But that was ten minutes ago.”

“Sorry.”

Clint shrugged. He’d already let it go. For the thousandth time she was grateful that he had such a patient and understanding nature. She wasn’t an easy person to be friends with, she knew that very well. Her lack of social grace could at times verge on offensive, but everything tended to roll off his back.

Clint was a rare breed. At first glance he was an island of normality surrounded by superpowered, damaged weirdos. It took time to understand what strength of character and adaptability allowed him to work among them as equals. It took even longer to see how amazing it was that he could understand Natasha so well despite them having such different experiences and backgrounds. In many ways he was an ideal she’d always looked up to, someone who was balanced and stable, who could separate their personal life from their work cleanly. That was something she’d never mastered. She doubted she ever would.

“What’s going on with you? And don’t give me that,” he insisted, responding to her attempt to put on an innocent face. “Is this something to do with the Soldier? Every time he comes up, you shut down. You’ve been weird ever since we ran into them.”

“He’s been stressing me out lately.” She stirred her coffee, unnecessarily because she took it black. Her brow was furrowed deeper than the Marianas Trench..

“Bringing up bad memories?”

“Sort of.” She looked up at him frankly. “Remember that guy I told you about in Budapest?”

Clint did remember. He raised his eyebrows.

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Jesus, Nat. Have you guys talked about it?”

“He probably doesn’t even remember me. It might not have even happened the way I think it did. It’s not relevant anymore.” She shrugged and stirred her coffee again, the metal of the spoon clinking hard against her mug. From looking at her it was obvious that it was still relevant to something.

“You don’t know that. This is a big deal.”

She made a face.

“He’s got enough to worry about.”

Clint stared at her. In Budapest she had told him about a lot of cruel things that the KGB had done to her. One of the most memorable had been her story about the man who had apparently been the Winter Soldier.

They’d been holed up in a cheap hotel. The running water was iffy, and there were cockroaches, but it had been good enough under the circumstances. They were being hunted by SHIELD and the KGB at the same time, since both of them had gone against orders when he’d accepted her defection. Things had gotten sorted out eventually, but those few weeks on the run had been a crash course in getting to know each other with an intensity that was probably impossible to recreate. 

Their brief love affair had been born out of desperation and, on her side, wild gratitude mixed with fear. Clint didn’t regret it, but it was for the best that they had ended up merely close friends. He had, however, learned a lot of secrets about her that he didn’t imagine anyone else alive knew.

“I remember someone,” she’d told him one night. She’d just gotten out of the shower, and had sat on the cracked tile floor of the bathroom in a towel, overwhelmed with the shock of returning memories. “They mind-wiped me completely, so it’s vague, but I think I was in love with him.” She had cried when she’d admitted that, and he could count on two fingers the number of times he’d seen her do that. “I know they did something horrible to him,” she said, shuddering. “I just don’t know what.”

He’d never followed up on it, but she seemed to remember more specifically now-- it had been Bucky all along. Her face was stoic, but below the surface he knew she must have been struggling..

“Do you remember it all?”

She shrugged. 

“I don’t want to dwell,” she said, dismissing the subject with a flippancy he found totally ridiculous. “On a lighter note, I’ve got a date tonight.”

“With Sam? Do you really think that’s a good idea under the circumstances?”

“I’m trying to move forward.”

“Just so long as you’re not running away.”

She took a sip of her coffee and didn’t respond.


	9. Chapter 9

“Nice to get out, huh?”

“Yeah. Really nice.” Bucky’s jaw was clenched vise tight, his head angled at the ground, although that didn’t keep him from eyeing everyone within attacking distance with suspicion. 

It was a gorgeous fall day. The foliage was bursting into flame, and Central Park was bustling. 

As the sound of children’s laughter filled the air, Bucky slumped a little lower in his hoodie. He shouldn’t be within 100 feet of children, he thought, with all the blood on his hands. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if they’d been able to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, Cap was frequently recognized even with a hat and sunglasses on, and little boys and girls asked him for autographs and sometimes for hugs. Bucky stayed in the background. Nobody seemed to recognize him, not even the Captain America fangirls. Bucky Barnes was ancient history to them. 

“Is that your bodyguard?” One girl asked. She and a gang of her friends, all twelve or thirteen, had gathered around Steve for autographs, giggling uncontrollably.

“You think I need a bodyguard?” Steve asked playfully. The girls shook their heads, blushing. Bucky pulled his baseball cap down lower on his face, feeling their stares. He knew he was pretty much unrecognizable, but his discomfort wasn’t directed at the people who might know him as Barnes. Hydra had eyes everywhere.

At his silent prompting communicated through a faster stride, they left the playground behind. In the quieter, almost deserted paths, they were able to talk.

“So,” Steve began, clearing his throat awkwardly. “About this morning.”

Bucky waited.

“I just can’t believe Nat didn’t say anything about knowing you. We talked about you so many times. She even tracked down your files for me. All the while she was keeping a secret like that.” Steve looked at Bucky. His friend was pursing his lips, focused on the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes. 

“When did you realize you’d met her before?” Steve asked him.

“When we were sparring the other day. It felt familiar. I remembered teaching her.”

He’d remembered a little more than that, but he felt uncomfortable admitting it. If Steve knew they’d had an affair, however brief, he might ask Natasha to keep more distance. Bucky didn’t want that. He wasn’t sure what it was that he did want, but it wasn’t that.

Steve nodded. “She must have been an interesting student.”

“I guess. Um,” Bucky hesitated. “How did you two become friends?”

“It’s weird. We just kind of found ourselves on the same side of things. We both want SHIELD to be a force for good. We’re helping each other figure out how to be normal. She’s got a good sense of humor.”

“Huh.”

“Do you remember much about her? Did you two get along?”

“Even what I told Tony was a stretch,” he said truthfully. “It’s very unclear.”

“Let’s hope you were friends,” Steve said, no longer serious. He thumped Bucky on the back hard enough that Bucky hoped he wasn’t in the habit of doing it to other, non-super soldiers. “Assuming friends were a thing in Soviet Russia. You want popcorn?” He grinned mischeivously, and Bucky rolled his eyes. A century, give or take, hadn’t improved his jokes one bit.

Bucky was going to say no thanks, but Steve was already running off to get one from the cart he’d spotted. Bucky smiled. Steve had never been one to wait around for approval. Well, not with Bucky at least. That went for both popcorn and fights with bullies twice their age, and Bucky just went with. Apparently it went for rescue missions, too.

That was one thing he could be grateful for, Bucky thought to himself. He was comfortable with Steve now. His memories of their youth were solid and familiar. Sure, they felt like they’d happened to someone else in a movie rather than real life, but it was a good movie. He liked that movie. He could go along with it’s being real.

If he could stick close to Steve long enough, maybe the rest of the world would fall into place, too. He justhad to adapt. He’d always been good at that.

Reality jolted back into place as something he’d flagged in one of his earlier scans of the area triggered a mental warning alarm as loud as an air raid siren. They were being followed, he didn’t know why or what the threat level was, but they were being followed, and that was enough.

He’d done a dozen visual checks of the area in the last minute, and there was a woman with short cropped hair who was coming closer. It wouldn’t be a problem, except she’d been following them for almost twenty minutes now, and she didn’t look like a fangirl. She had been on and off her phone, and just a moment ago she’d decided to take a picture. Bucky hadn’t liked her look.

“Steve,” he said in a low voice when his friend returned with the popcorn. “Act casual.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Natasha and Clint were arguing over who would win in a fight, Loki, or a duck the size of a horse.

“No mind control?”

“It’s just a duck.”

“It could become his duck slave. He could build a duck army.”

“More likely it would just step on him with its giant, webbed feet-- hold on, it’s Steve. Hello?” She answered her phone. Her smile dropped off her face within seconds.

“Why are you two outside? He told you what? It’s not secure, how could all of New York be secure? Yeah… We’re on our way.”

She looked at Clint. 

“Steve and Bucky are in Central Park. They’re being followed.”

“Is it Hydra?”

“We’re gonna find out. When we get there we take her in. We don’t make contact with them until it’s done. Element of surprise.”

“Got it.”

……………………………………………………………………………………..

“You’re not in any danger,” Steve assured Bucky. “It’s just one gal. Probably one of my fans.” He’d just hung up the phone. Natasha and Clint were on their way to rescue the two super soldiers from what was probably nothing more than a false alarm. The irony of their panic did strike Bucky, but he was just terrified enough of being recaptured that he didn’t care.

“I’m not scared of a gal on a phone,” Bucky retorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m scared of who she might work for.” Even if the woman was Hydra, which Bucky assumed she was, she was just one person and was no threat to the Winter Soldier and Captain America together. He’d suspected from the moment they’d left the tower what the real purpose in their outing was.

He didn’t care. It had been inevitable. But he’d enjoyed being out in fresh air while it lasted.

They kept walking, trying to appear unfazed by the distant shadow that kept cropping up behind them. It was a woman, a blonde with a short pixie cut, who was pretending to be on her phone but had been following them for a quarter of a mile. She was careful to only look at them out of her peripheral vision, as they were doing to her, but it was easy to guess that she was photographing them covertly.

“She’s doing a terrible job of looking subtle.”

“Probably from a tabloid,” Steve joked, although he was clearly nervous. Bucky didn’t think it was from any real fear of the woman or even Hydra. Steve was probably just worried Bucky would be upset. 

“I knew this was part of it,” he said quietly. He stared at his feet as they walked, unwilling to meet Steve’s eyes. “I understand.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve responded with alarm. He couldn’t be obvious or they would scare the woman off, but Bucky had caught him off guard.

“When you asked me to go out today. You’re drawing them out.”

“Well,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “When you put it like that. But that wasn’t the purpose entirely. You have to go out sometime.”

“It’s fine. I’m just saying, you can be straight with me about this stuff. I’m not fuckin’ made of glass. I know the shit I’m in, I know they’re still out there.” That was a lot of words, he thought. He’d been holding in more than he’d thought. He just wanted Steve to dial it back with the overprotectiveness. The Winter Soldier could be useful in the fight against Hydra, but as long as Steve was shielding him there was no way he could really help.

Steve looked surprised that Bucky had so much to say on the subject.

“I didn’t want to make you feel obligated. I knew if I mentioned Hydra-”

“I’d go because I want them destroyed as much as anybody else. If not more.”

Steve nodded, liking the spirit his friend was showing. If it brought Bucky back to himself, gave him purpose, maybe he could let Fury and Natasha know that Bucky could help. It worried him, but he remembered what it had been like to face the Winter Soldier. If Hydra agents who knew what he was capable of knew they would be going head to head with a Soldier out for blood...

“Since she’s this incompetent,” Bucky said, fully aware of the woman’s movements besides not turning around once, “I have a feeling she’s not actually--” He stopped speaking, as both he and Steve watched the woman disappear behind a rocky outcrop without a hint of noise or a chance to fight back.

“That was fast.”

“They were close.”

The two of them headed back to the Tower, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.


	10. Chapter 10

SHIELD did their work quickly. Less than an hour after the woman had been brought in, they had their answer.

“She wasn’t Hydra.” Maria said flatly when Bucky and Steve arrived at the command center to hear the results. It was a glass walled room in the center of a large, circular atrium surrounded by hallways and offices. The glass allowed them to watch the SHIELD staff bustling about their day. Unfortunately that went both ways. Bucky tried to ignore the stares of the agents on the other side, many of who were failing to even be subtle. Natasha and Clint leaned against the wall off to one side, watching in silence. He figured they must have done the interviewing.

“She sang like a bird,” Maria went on. “Some kind of nutjob.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Coulson said. “She’s more like an enthusiastic fan of Captain America. Sort of a conspiracy theorist. She recognized you, Mr. Barnes. She was taking pictures for her blog.”

“’Dead war hero returns to life’ was her headline,” Maria said. “She was going to call the papers, try to get on the news.”

“Did you kill her?” Bucky asked, though he didn’t care one way or another. Maria didn’t let on that the question was inappropriate. 

“We let her go. PR will spread a story about you being Bucky’s grand-nephew, and nobody will return her calls. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Bucky evaluated the situation. Maria was a good woman, but whip-smart. If the stalker had been Hydra, she wouldn’t have told him. The fact that Coulson was involved was indication enough that this was not about some blogger.

“That’s a relief,” Steve said. Bucky had been with Steve the whole time while they waited, so he doubted Steve was in on it—yet. He suspected Steve would be called in to a private briefing to be caught up to speed once Bucky was convinced.

“Don’t get me wrong, Hydra’s out there, just too fractured to do much at the moment,” Maria reminded them. “They’re in no position to be making offensive moves against SHIELD.”

Now that was laughable, Bucky thought. As if SHIELD wasn’t just as fractured and weak. They didn’t even have a headquarters anymore, they were just renting this space from Tony. Hydra was stronger. For every head you cut off, two more grew back in its place.

A buried instinct made him glance at Natasha. She made eye contact with him, and something in her eyes told him his guess was right. They were lying to him.

“We’ll have ‘em on the ropes before long,” Steve said, patting Bucky on the back. “So, before the stalker, what did you think of today? Success?” He looked at his friend hopefully.

Bucky nodded “It was fine,” he said carefully.

“Really? You weren’t iffy about anything? It’s understandable if you were a little paranoid, I know I would be,” Maria said.

He had been so paranoid that he’d barely been able to hear Steve over his own pounding heart. He’d been fighting his gut that was telling him to run and hide, and his hands had been shaking in his pockets.

“It was nice to be outside,” he said simply. That much was true, he figured. He didn’t require safety in order to function. He knew how to live with fear. He did want to go outside.

“I trust SHIELD,” he threw in, knowing he was laying it on thick. Surely they wouldn’t fall for this horseshit?

“Fantastic,” Maria said, smiling at Steve as though they’d hit the jackpot. “Well, if you want to go out again, just give security a heads up and you’re good, as long as you have Steve with you.”

Those must have been the magic words. As he’d figured, this ‘casual outing’ had been a test, and he’d passed. He’d swallowed their lies and fed them his own. It was a give and take he could live with, if it meant freedom.

Steve clapped him on the back. “That’s awesome. We’ve gotta go tell Sam.” Bucky followed him out, giving Natasha one last glance as he was leaving.  
……………………………………………………………..  
He looked resigned, she thought as she watched him leave.

“There’s no way he bought it.”

“Sorry?”

Natasha repeated herself. “Barnes knows you’re lying to him about the woman being Hydra.”

“What makes you think that?”

“‘I trust SHIELD?’ He’s fucking with you.”

“That did seem like a stretch,” Clint agreed. “I’m pretty sure Steve is the only thing keeping him here.”

“Well,” Maria said, disappointed. “If that’s the case then so be it. Fury still wants an appraisal of his tactical value. He wants you sparring with him on a regular basis,” she told Natasha.

“He’s fine. But I don’t think he should be doing field duty.”

“We’ve discussed this many times. Fury’s not budging on this one.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. 

“You just assume he wants to spend the rest of his life slaving away for SHIELD when he’s never had a chance to try living for himself.”

“It worked for you, didn’t it?” Clint quipped.

She turned on Clint with an icy glare. He elaborated.

“His options are limited. Hydra is hunting him. He’s in the Smithsonian. He’s the Winter Soldier, for God’s sake. Where else can he go but here with the other weirdos?”

“Nobody is going to treat him like a weapon, Natasha. We’re not Hydra.” Maria promised. 

“I understand that.”

“Fury is just covering his bases.”

“I know.” 

Clint patted her on the back. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Natasha jerked away from his hand and left the room. She had too much to process and couldn’t deal with Clint’s pity. She never should have told him about her past with the Soldier.

Once she was gone, Maria turned to Clint.

“She really relates to him, doesn’t she?”

Clint wore a look of concern. 

“Something like that.”


End file.
